


"Papa"

by Anonymous



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Family, Angst, Character Death, Kid!Jongin, Kid!Sehun, M/M, NHEV, No Happy Ending Fest, Stillbirth, domestic angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: … because Papa has all the people he needs.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49
Collections: No Happy Ending Fest - 2020





	"Papa"

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #:** Self-Prompt  
>  **Prompt:** … because Papa has all the people he needs.  
>  **Pairing/Main character(s):** Chanyeol/Baekhyun  
>  **Side Characters(if any):** Byun Baekbeom, Kai, Sehun  
>  **Word Count:** 4,204  
>  **Warning(s)/Additional Tag(s):** Character Death, Stillbirth  
>  **Author's note:** I would like to thank the mods first and foremost for allowing me to participate in this year’s round and for being so understanding, accommodating, and patient with my multiple prompt changes. I would also like to thank my beta T for sticking with me through all of it, and this story is dedicated to her. Lastly, I would like to thank the readers for giving this a chance and reading it through to its end. I really appreciate it and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I had fun writing it! Thank you once again, and please do take care and stay safe!

“Papa?”

The little whimper was enough to break through the quiet of the living room, a snip through the still that was unlit lamps and muted televisions, but it was one that Baekhyun did not mind. In fact, the call had the father turning around immediately, eyes diverting from Hyun Bin and Ye-jin to instead seek out a little one, a two-year-old by the name of Byun Jongin.

“Papa’s here Sweetheart, in the living room.” He made sure to keep his own voice down to a murmur, not wanting to raise it a decibel higher, what with it being late into the night. The digital clock perched on the television stand was blinking a neon red _23:52 P.M.,_ so it was with consideration and coercion of the late night did Baekhyun whisper his call for his son. 

Baekhyun kept his gaze focused on the armchair perpendicular to the hallway, knowing that his son would be walking only from that direction, and it only took a few more seconds for his patience to bear fruition.

He only had to wait a few more seconds before the tell-tale pitter-patter of socked feet against wood started making themselves apparent, growing louder with each second, and the uniformity and predictability of it all brought nothing but a smile on the father’s face. So it was with a smile stretched across his lips did Baekhyun patiently wait for his son, the smile growing with every cute whimper that echoed through the hallway, and it stretched to its brightest the moment a fuzzy brown foot and a fuzzy little tummy stepped into view. 

“Baby, over here, Papa’s here.”

Jongin turned to face him at the call, and Baekhyun couldn’t help but coo at the sight of his little toddler rubbing his little eyes, a pout freshly bloomed across his lips, his favourite bear-printed yellow blankie clutched tight in one hand and favourite fluffy little bear plushie perched in between his elbow and torso.

 _God,_ _his son is just_ ** _adorable_** _._

It was only a beat later did Jongin begin to scramble over, his little face and tiny features scrunching up adorably as the relief washed over him, the reassurance of his father’s presence a balm to his frazzled and agitated nerves– a nightmare probably, that much Baekhyun can deduce. His son’s fear was apparent in his features, plastered and stamped in the form of lines etched across his soft forehead, into the curves of his lips and trembling of his chin, as well as in the staggers and flailing of his steps and limbs, yet Baekhyun could only _coo._

He would feel bad, honestly he would (as he _should),_ but his little one is just too adorable! Just how was he supposed to feel bad when all his son is doing is being cute and cuddly and adorable– toddling over to him with pearls of crystal beading along his waterlines, a bright pink pout carved onto his plump lips, and an elongated, whiny _“Papaaaaaaa”_ leaving his lips?

Jongin barrelled _right_ into him, and– unsurprisingly, Baekhyun couldn’t find it in himself to chastise his son, instead immediately proceeding to slot his hands right underneath the little one’s arms and lifting him up, placing him on his lap.

The new position, as Baekhyun has (un)fortunately come to find, was all Jongin needed as the final pat of reassurance and comfort, because it wasn’t a beat later did the first of whimpered sobs leave his lips, and Baekhyun was quick to hug the toddler even closer to his chest, holding him confidently as he began rubbing soothing circles cross his son’s back. Hums and coos were soon to join in too, Baekhyun gently rocking the both of them side-to-side as sweet melodies began leaving his lips.

Nursery rhymes and lullabies began seeping into the air, the sweet notes an envelope encasing the father-son pair, gently lapping at the nightmares and fears, washing them away with each word and each note. Jongin only clutched onto his father tighter, little fist wrapping so snuggly about the soft cotton of Baekhyun’s cardigan, his gentle weight a light press into Baekhyun’s abdomen despite the incessant snuggles, despite the burrowing and tightening, and Baekhyun could only hold onto him tighter.

… and they remained this way for a while, arms snug about each other with Baekhyun’s voice a veil of comfort, of reassurance, of love and affection, until the little one’s fist fell away, until his back evened out, until little Jongin fell asleep.

A quick glance down to his stomach was all Baekhyun needed to confirm his suspicions, his smile softening in its paternal affection as he gazed at the softly shut eyes of his toddler, as he felt his firstborn’s back rise and fall beneath his palm, steady and consistent. He laughs, a light little chuckle no more than a breath out of his nose, before proceeding to wrap the yellow blanket about the back and around the younger, tucking in all the extra fabric and not stopping until Jongin resembled a freshly wrapped burrito.

“Let’s put you to sleep, Love,” he whispers, making his way to the only ajar door down the hallway. 

His sons’ room.

The little nightlight was still on, two of them, and Baekhyun smiles at the sight of the yellow painted onto the wood floor as he gently nudged the white door open. With a sleeping toddler in his arms, Baekhyun quietly made his way into the room, careful to keep his steps light and silent as he walked past the yellow crib and towards the brown one, Jongin’s.

The hums and lullabies stayed with him all throughout the walk, and Baekhyun continued to hum his son’s favourite tune as he gently laid him down, yellow blanket and all. The smile continued to stay, tugging ever so wide the moment Jongin’s head touched the mattress, the moment the little one snuggled about in his little blanket, stopping only when he found a position comfortable enough, and Baekhyun couldn’t help but cup the little one’s cheek, the action prompted by the affection swelling in is chest. 

“Sleep well, my Love,” he coos, brushing away a few flyaway strands of brown from Jongin’s face. “Papa loves you. Papa _always_ loves you.”

… and it was with that did Baekhyun step away from the crib, turning on his heel and walked towards the door.

Leaving with nothing but a smile, nothing but a full heart, and nothing but love.

… nothing but _silence._

* * *

**_Baekbeom Hyung_ ** **_  
_ ** _Missed call (16)_

_–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––_

**_Baekbeom Hyung_ ** **_  
_ ** _You’re a selfish piece of shit._

* * *

**10:22 A.M.**

The sound of the doorbell rang about the apartment, quick to interrupt the peaceful silence of the morning– one of quietly eating toddlers and a parent keeping watch, making sure that the porridge only went past lips and not on cloth, and Baekhyun was quick to excuse himself. They were expecting a guest today, and even though they weren’t someone new to the twins, Baekhyun still couldn’t help the wide, bright grin from taking over the bottom half of his face, one that prompted the lighting of his features.

Approaching the doorway, Baekhyun unlocked the main entrance with a click of a button, before rushing forward to open the door personally, giggles already making their way past his throat and an enthusiastic greeting ready on his lips. 

Byun Baekbeom finally steps through the door and into the foyer, shaking off the few stray water droplets that managed to cling to the ends of his hair and slotting the umbrella into the umbrella stand– or, more accurately, a vase that Baekhyun had no idea what to do with before finally finding a use for.

“Hyung!” came the cry, and Baekbeom’s reflexes were thankfully still as sharp and robust as they were back when they were kids, for Baekhyun didn’t wait a second before launching himself at his older brother. Baekbeom laughs, one warm and bright enough to melt away the chills of the rainy day as he too wrapped his own arms around the other, holding him close and pulling him in.

“It’s good to see you too, Hyunnie,” Baekbeom greeted, patting his younger brother on his back before turning them into large, calm circles– a characteristic gesture of comfort and affection in the Byun household, one both brothers learnt from their mother and passed on to their own children. “But it hasn’t been that long since I last visited, has it?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I miss you any less,” Baekhyun smiles, giving his older one last squeeze before untangling his limbs from about Baekbeom. Baekbeom simply quirks a brow, his amusement a transparent mask on his face as he unbuttoned his coat, but the younger simply ignores it.

“Anyway, I’ve made some porridge. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“Not yet, you?”

“Nope, I was waiting for you to arrive. Was thinking of eating together.” Baekhyun throws a small smile over his shoulder as he led the way to the dining room, and Baekbeom reciprocates it with his own.

“Also, I was waiting for the kids to finish their breakfast first before eating my own, but I think they’re just about done now.”

…

…

…

… Baekbeom’s smile _drops._

* * *

**_Baekbeom Hyung_ ** **_  
_ ** _I can’t believe you would abandon him like that._

_–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––_

**_Baekbeom Hyung_ ** **_  
_ ** _You never deserved him in the first place._

* * *

“Hunnie! Nini! Guess who’s here!”

The two little toddlers startle in their high chairs, bottoms bouncing at the sudden call and heads whipping about at the sudden call. Baekhyun only laughs at the expressions painted on his sons’ faces; Jongin’s eyes blowing wide and pouty lips clamped tight around the soft plastic of his feeding spoon, and Sehun’s jaw dropping open mid-bite, empty spoon clattering against the plate of the high chair.

The father continues to giggle, obviously endeared by the sight of his twins as he made his way towards the kitchen. He tilts his head back around, eyes still focused on his sons as he called out for his brother to hurry over and greet them.

“Your favourite uncle is here, my Loves!”

Baekhyun makes quick to settle down on a chair– the same one he was occupying before he left to greet Baekbeom, the one closest to where the two high chairs were. He gestures over to the chair directly opposite of himself, eager and endeared eyes guiding for Baekbeom to take that seat as he snatched up a napkin, making to dab and wipe the chins of his sons’ clean of soup.

He starts murmuring then, endeared chastises and generous praises a steady stream from his lips amidst hums and chuckles, and Baekbeom simply watches as his younger brother continues dabbing at the twins, continues smiling, continues laughing, continues _loving._

_“You’re so messy, Sehunnie! But that’s okay, you’re still learning so you’re doing a very good job! Papa’s so proud of you!”_

_“Jonginnie… let’s not play with our food okay? It’s not polite. We should only eat our food, not play with it.”_

… 

…

…

… and Baekbeom feels his heart _break._

But he clamps his lips shut, shuts his eyes as he takes in a deep breath. 

… because to lose it now would be as good as a death wish. 

Especially after the last time he did so, especially after everything _Baekhyun_ has been through.

So Baekbeom simply inhales, holds his breath for a good seven seconds, before releasing it, second by second. With every millimetre he felt his chest deflating, he exhaled along his frustration, his hurt, his anger, and his sorrow.

… the emotions he held for Baekhyun, the emotions he felt _on behalf_ of Baekhyun.

… and he continues walking on, fists unclenched and shoulders relaxed.

A smile on his face, and happiness in his eyes.

… ones that were so obviously, and so _painfully–_

 **_Fake_ ** _._

* * *

**_Me:_ ** **_  
_ ** _You’re a selfish piece of shit._ _  
_ _I can’t believe you would abandon him like that._ _  
_ _You never deserved him in the first place._

Seen ✓

* * *

Baekbeom watches as Baekhyun cleans up.

The children had just finished their breakfast and Baekhyun hadn’t been quicker to unbuckle them from their high chairs and let them down. He had told them to hug their uncle, to at least give Baekbeom a little more than a wave and an excited _“Hi!”,_ but the kids hadn’t changed since the last time their uncle visited.

They still clung by Baekhyun’s calf, refusing to toddle into the arms of Baekbeom.

Though, Baekbeom didn’t take any offence to that. After all, this had always been the case for the past two years. Or, more accurately, ever since the children started to recognise faces and started walking. It didn’t matter who it was or how much Baekhyun pesters them, because even if it was their grandparents or even Baekhyun’s most loved and trusted friends, Byun Jongin and Byun Sehun would never hug them.

“I’m sorry Hyung,” Baekhyun pouts, fingers carding through the soft strands of his twins’ hair, tone apologetic. “They’re still really shy…”

Baekbeom just smiles, lips tight along the corners as he waved off his younger brother’s remark. “They’re still growing, Hyunnie, it’s fine.”

The younger’s lips purse at that, gaze still focused on the twins wrapped about his calves and fingers still absentmindedly running through identical mops of brown.

Baekhyun’s worry was still very apparent on his face, plastered in the furrow of his brows and the crumples along the corners of his lips; concerned, and Baekbeom couldn’t help but sigh. It was pulled out of him unintentionally, almost an instinctive reaction to the sight that his younger brother was presenting, but Baekbeom was quick to mask it– his true feelings, the true words he wished to say, his true thoughts, by directing his gaze down at the ground, focusing on the marble instead.

… but as Baekhyun continued on in his ministrations, as the youngest Byun continued smoothing his finger over his sons’ hair, wrist hovering just right above his knees…

Baekbeom couldn’t take it.

The frustration, the hurt, the anger, the sorrow–

The _pain._

… he couldn’t take it.

… and it was never a good mix, Baekbeom and unspoken words, Baekbeom and unsorted feelings. It had proved to be provocative back in their younger years, and a force to be reckoned with in the later years.

It had also proved to be _deadly._

And he knows.

In fact, he knows better than anyone what it was like to see the results of his tirades, his explosions, _first-hand._ He’s seen the pain he inflicted on others– the pain he couldn’t sort through, didn’t have a proper tap to release through, scald and burn and _hurt_ the very people he loved. He’s seen his most precious _crumble,_ shrink and shrivel and _hollow in_ on themselves, curled up atop sheets with nothing but white around them, with nothing but _red_ around them.

… one of them being Baekhyun.

The youngest Byun.

… but– _but–_

_– For how long…?_

… for how long can Baekbeom keep this up…? For how long can Baekbeom keep up this charade, this– this _act?_

… _for how long can he keep up with this theatre?_

_“I’ll bring the kids to the bathroom to wash up, Hyung. They’re a little messy after breakfast. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be back!”_

…

…

…

… _for how long…?_

* * *

**_Park Chanyeol_ ** **_  
_ ** _[Typing…]_ _  
_ _[Typing…]_ _  
_ _[Typing…]_

Seen ✓

* * *

“Hyunnie?”

A hum was all he got in reply, Baekhyun still focused on the sippy cups in his hands. He was just done with pouring a serving of freshly-squeezed orange juice into them, intending to give them to his twins as a drink to wash down their breakfast with, and with everything about Baekhyun being his twins coming first, he didn’t grace his older brother with his attention until the caps were snug in place.

“Yeah Hyung?”

“Can I… Can I talk to you about something?”

  
  
  


Perhaps it was the tone of his voice, or the pitchiness of it. Maybe it was because it was spoken just a little too softly, the syllables treading around his vocal tones in a manner akin to trepidation, to caution. Or it might have just been the anxiety, the fear laced in the words, in the question mark.

Who knows, really, who knows?

…

…

…

… All Baekbeom knows… is that he said the _wrong thing._

  
  
  


Shoulders tensing, limbs locking, eyes steeling.

_Guarded._

That’s what Baekhyun was.

Baekbeom could see it in the curling of fingers into palms, could see it in the drawing in of feet. He could see it in the flickering away of the younger’s eyes, in the chin digging into his sternum.

… and all of it was because of a single statement.

_“The hospital called.”_

Baekhyun had instantly _freaked._

It wasn’t obvious in the general sense of things. There was no loud slamming, glass shattering, or feet stomping. There were no yells or screams or shouts or tears. There was none of that.

Rather, it was obvious in the _silence._

“… I don’t know what that has to do with me, Hyung.”

_Shaky._

“… I– I told you, I told you and mom and dad– I told you _all._ I’m healthy now, I don’t need whatever it is that the hospital is giving me, I don’t need it. I’m good how I am, and I’m healthy. I’m alright and my head is clear– I’m _good now.”_

_Clenched fists._

Stubborn.

… a trait that runs in the family.

“Baekhyun– _Hyunnie,_ **_please_ ** _.”_

A desperate exhale, a frantic outreach of palms.

_Desperate. Desperate. Desperate._

“Just listen to Hyung, okay? _Please.”_

**_Desperate. Desperate. Desperate._ **

_“You’re_ **_not okay_ ** _.”_

“– But I **am** !” A scream, a _yell._

Uncaring of the volume, _uncaring._

 _“I am okay! I am I am I am!”_ Clenched fists, abrupt standing, the chair toppling over. Heaving chests, rapid breaths, ablaze eyes. _“I have everything I ever needed in my life with me, I don’t need the hospital! I have myself and_ **_most importantly, I have my two sons_ ** _!”_

Slapping away outstretched hands, tossing away all outstretched help.

 _“I don’t need the hospital because I am_ **_fine_ ** _!”_

…

…

…

_“… I don’t need anyone else… I just need my sons.”_

_“… and I have them, Hyung… I_ **_have_ ** _them.”_

…

…

…

_“… So stop trying to take them away from me.”_

* * *

**_Park Chanyeol_ ** **_  
_ ** _I did all I could do, Hyung._ _  
_ _I did everything I could do._

* * *

He kicked Baekbeom out.

After the entire yelling bout that went down in the morning, Baekhyun had promptly asked for his brother to leave, slamming the door in his face before beelining straight to the living room.

The television was still playing one of the children’s sign language marathons that Baekhyun had put on earlier, and he internally thanked the Heavens that the children had been so absorbed in the cheerful jingles and animated hand signs that they seemingly weren’t affected at all by what had just happened. Instead, both Jongin and Sehun were still focused entirely on the screen, copying the lady’s hand movements and jumping around excitedly as the music played.

Despite the yells, despite the shouts, despite the _screams._

As if everything was okay, as if everything was _normal._

And Baekhyun– so high-strung, so taut with tension, and so very, very _agitated,_ simply took his children’s state of bliss in stride. He didn’t bother questioning it, and couldn’t bring himself to care.

Instead, Baekhyun took all that frustration, all that distraught and hurt and _anger_ that sprouted from the five-minute heated exchanged, and he took it all out on his sons.

In the form of hugs, kisses, and cuddles.

Of course, Baekhyun would never hurt his sons. He had been at his maximum capacity at that point, yes, but Baekhyun would never expend it, would never treat his children like an outlet for those feelings, for those emotions.

Because he loved them.

He _loved_ his sons.

Which is why he would never risk anything, would never risk _doing_ anything, that has even a _one percent_ chance of him losing them.

… because these were the children he had tried so hard– so so _so_ _hard– to have._

… and they were finally with him.

… they were finally _his._

Alive… and _breathing._

* * *

**_Park Chanyeol_ ** **_  
_ ** _I cannot… I cannot help someone who isn’t willing to help themselves, Hyung._ _  
_ _I cannot._ _  
_ _Not anymore._

* * *

He had been married once, wedded to someone who– to him at that point in time, had been _the one._

And who wouldn’t have felt the same, really? Who– if and when given the opportunity, the chance, the _dream_ of being proposed to, of being _wedded_ to none other than Park Chanyeol, would say otherwise?

The esteemed youngest of s family of doctors, Park Chanyeol was a man of chivalry, of kindness, of intelligence, and of endless love and affection. It wasn’t too far off from reality when Baekhyun recounts their days and describes them to be nothing short of a fairy-tale romance; because days of waking up entangled together, of forehead presses and nose kisses, of arms around waists behind stoves, of comforting and never-ending movie marathons, of home-cooked meals and home-based romantic dinners, of cheek cups and crown kisses…

They were endless.

He remembers the countless times Chanyeol would come home, walking through the same door, dressed in nothing but a smart polo tee that Baekhyun had bought for him, a smile on his face and a blush-pink tulip between his fingers. He remembers the countless moments of Chanyeol sweeping him off his feet, his arms coming around to wrap about his waist– tight, tight, _tight,_ as he lifted him up and spun them around, and how he wouldn’t stop spinning until he got Baekhyun to say his _‘I love you’s._ He remembers every single instance of when Chanyeol would interlace their fingers, slotting his right ones between Baekhyun’s left, and how widely his _husband_ would smile every time he’d thumb the ring on Baekhyun’s fourth finger..

He remembers _everything._

… He remembers how much Chanyeol loved him.

He had loved him _so much,_ so much so that Baekhyun had felt like he was living in a dream, a _fantasy._

… and he never wanted to wake up.

  
  
  


… Until he had to.

_“Y–Yeol…? Yeol– Yeol I– I don’t know w-what to d-o–”_

_“Baby– Baby what’s wrong? What happened?”_

_“I’m– I’m b–bleeding, I’m bleeding so m-much– there’s– there’s so much blood Yeol, please–_ **_please_ ** _–”_

… until he woke up in _red._

* * *

**_Park Chanyeol_ ** **_  
_ ** _I don’t know what else I can do, Hyung._ _  
_ _I don’t know what else you want from me._

* * *

He remembers waking up in the hospital.

It had been the scent of antiseptic that had woken him up, the distinct sting an alarm that, despite being foreign, was ingrained into his very soul. The grooming had come as a result of all his past visits, all his past experiences with the scent, what with countless visits to clinics and hospitals, to offices and to wards, and it wasn’t surprising.

His husband is a paediatrician, after all.

He remembers how the scent would be a staple in their household, his husband coming home with clothes seemingly soaked with antiseptic to the point Baekhyun had jokingly asked whether doctors use it as perfume, and Chanyeol would always laugh. He’d indulge in the smaller one’s giggles, pinching his playfully scrunched nose as he tugged Baekhyun closer to his chest, before mumbling how _“of course not, Love. Why would I wear perfume if it’s so obvious you don’t like it?”_

Baekhyun would usually deny, but the hard nudge he’d get for even the _thought_ of the little white lie had him just biting his lip in reply.

… and that would only earn him a chuckle from the other, Baekhyun’s sole lip bite guiding his eyes down to the only thing keeping them from pressing chest-to-chest.

  
  
  


_“… and neither do you two, right?”_

  
  
  


… Park Jongin, and Park Sehun.

* * *

_“Chanyeol_ **_please_ ** _, I’m begging you–”_

 _“Hyung– Hyung I_ **_can’t_ ** _.”_

_Stuttered breaths, clenched fists._

_Shut eyes, damp waterlines._

_“… I can’t Hyung… I can’t do it anymore.”_

* * *

They were their eighth attempt.

…

…

…

… Park Jongin and Park Sehun were their _eighth attempt._

…

…

…

… _and their final one._

* * *

_“I’ve lived–“ a hard swallow, a stifle of sobs, “I’ve lived with that for two years Hyung–_ **_two years_ ** _–”_

_Wiping eyes, choking cries._

_“I don’t– You call me selfish, saying how I– how I abandoned him, but–_ **_but_ ** _–”_

_Heaving chests, squeezing lungs, crushed heart._

_“_ **_He abandoned me first_ ** _.”_

* * *

_“… Where… Where are they?”_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_… Silence._

_An unmoving husband; one slumped in his chair, hair tousled, shoulders defeated, and hands stained._

_Red._

_“Y–Yeol, Yeol where are Jongin and Sehun? Chanyeol tell me–_ **_tell me where are they_ ** _–”_

_“… They’re dead, Baek.”_

_…_

_…_

_…_

_“… They were stillborn.”_

_“… The both of them.”_

* * *

_“I’ve lived with a husband who has lost himself to his grief, Hyung.”_

_Begging, pleading, for understanding, for courtesy, for compassion._

_“… two years was enough. I can’t handle more.”_

_Final sniffles, final sobs._

_“… So please, please please_ **_please_ ** _… Don’t force me to take more.”_

* * *

… So there Baekhyun sat.

Right in the middle of the living room, right in the middle of two wooden chairs.

Caressing the wood, caressing the soft cotton of the only thing draped over them.

_Blankets._

… alone.

…

…

…

… With _no sons._

* * *

_“I love him, God– I love him so much–”_

_A final inhale, a final breath._

_“… but this is the end.”_

* * *

_“… Papa doesn’t need anyone else, because Papa has_ **_the both of you_ ** _.”_


End file.
